


A blade forged in the flames of what he gave up

by Gazee



Series: Piglin Technoblade stories [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Baby Technoblade, Because I like peppering in the fact that I´m canon and also: it´s fun to write, Blood, Chat is a thing btw, Child Technoblade, I am so in love with that headcanon you don´t understand, I apologise, If there is canon lore then I am physically forced to put my own spin on it, Like, Origin Story, Other characters will come in later, Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Techoblade is in this story not fully grown during canon, The Nether, Well - Freeform, You can´t take that from me, but I´m not going to stop, but u get what i mean, cuz Piglins age differently, full on Piglin, love me some angst, so far it´s only Technoblade and a few mobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gazee/pseuds/Gazee
Summary: The small footsteps can be heard echoing through the grand caves of the nether, hooves on nether rack creating a distinct sound among the slow-flowing lava. The small Piglins face is messy from crying as it tries its best to keep running. To not give up yet (it can´t. Not after everything. Not now.) But when its cornered, the lava bubbling dangerously below it, it is forced to make a decision.It´s not giving up... right?orThe story of Baby Technoblade and how this story changes canon a little bit. (but only here and there and everywhere)
Series: Piglin Technoblade stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195466
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	1. In which the story begins

_Click clack, click clack._  
  
A small Piglin runs through the open plane of Nether-rack. It wishes its legs were longer so that it could run faster; so that it could _escape._  
  
_Click clack, click clack._  
  
Its breathing is frantic and thick tears run down its cheeks. If it weren´t so preoccupied with running its lungs out it would probably have broken out into sobs by now.  
  
_Click clack, click clack._  
  
It can feel the hot air of the Nether waft through the large tuft of hair on its head and it makes it want to throw up. The familiarity of the warm wind in his fur as it runs makes its body think that _this is home. You don´t have to run, you don´t have to hide. **You are safe**_  
It makes the Piglin sick, that the universe finds it so easy to lie to it.  
  
_Click clack, click clack._  
  
It can feel and hear the thundering hooves far behind it. If it were to even stop for a second it´d be done for. _No_ , it couldn´t afford to stop, it would do anything to not be-  
  
_Click clac-_  
  
  
It stops.  
  
  
  
  
In front of it is a large lave lake. It must be _thousands_ of blocks wide and the glow of it makes the Piglin´s eyes sting. It frantically turns its head. Looking for an escape- _for any sort of hope._  
But it seems the universe is not yet done playing tricks on it. It´s so small. It´s so young. It doesn´t _know. It can´t comprehend what it did wrong to deserve such a fate._  
It doesn´t think anyone should have to die at the hands of their former loved ones- _**it** doesn´t want to die like that._  
  
...  
  
Would it- _it can feel its tears still fresh on the fur of its face_ \- would it be more- _the thundering sound is getting closer_ \- would it be more honourable to- _its chest feels tight. So, so **tight**_ \- would it be more honourable to _choose_ the way it wants to die?  
  
  
  
It stares down at the lava with fear in its eyes and glances at the golden crown that is tightly clutched in its hooved hand. If it- if it gives up now _(it doesn´t have anywhere to run. Nowhere to hide)_ the- its- the other Piglins would **just tear him to shreds.** _They´d leave him to rot and take back the gold._  
It doesn´t- _it chokes back a sob, tears welling back up and its throat closing uncomfortably_ -it doesn´t _want_ to lose its gold. _**It doesn´t want to die.**_  
  
But if it can choose between getting beaten to death by its former sounder and dying with gold in its arms then it will- _it can hear the footsteps again. So close, **too close**_ \- then it will choose to die a death that is, maybe not quite merciful, but the biggest mercy the world is willing to grant it. _(As if there was any mercy that the world has ever granted it)_  
And with that thought the small Piglins body shuts down. Its limbs going numb as it lets the exhaustion overtake it and the last thing it feels is an unbearable _heat, tearing at the fur and flesh of its body- before everything goes red._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


C̷̡̨̮͕͉̘̰̟̦͉͎̆͑͛̄̃̄̆͂̿̒͑̔̋̔̀̑͂͊̃̎͊̿̚̕͝ͅǫ̷̨̞͉̠̘̫̘̙͓͈̺̩̥͕͕̩̿̉͊̐̑̎̈́͂͑͛m̶̢̡̛̜̟̮̹̦̥͓̠̙̟̣͂̆͌̿̐̓̋͌͌͠ē̵̟͈͔̲͖̼͕̾͊͐͒̊̓͛̀̽̕ ̴̧̢̡̨̟̠̥̩̗̰̜̣̭̥̪̰̼̝̺̲͇̮͔̱͈̻͊̅ͅḧ̴̢̨̨̟̠̲͉̘̼̳̺̗̺̲̠͍̱͚́͗̋̔͒̐͂͑̒̂̑͜ͅḙ̵̞̼̭͖̱̣̅̐͐̈́̉̏̃̀͐̊́̕͝ŗ̷̢͕̙̖̘̦̜̟͚͔̱̻͔͉̻̟̜̮̻͕̄̈́̒̃̋̆͌̅̄͘͠͠ͅe̶͍̠̱̬͛̋̽̀͗̈́͂̐̈́͊͋̏̒̆͘͝,̸̛̛̟͈̹̥̗̱͎̲̻̠͇̼̹͇̘͈͈͓͉̿̅̇̌͑̈́̓̏̉̿̈͊̒͑̈̾̌̑̇͐̚͠͠ͅ ̸̛̛͈̻̩̘̟̖̅̐̄͐̒͋͋̏̋̾̌͝͝l̶̛̖̻̭̩̔͊̑͊͌͛̋̆͐̚͘̕͝͠͝ơ̴̡̨̝̖̣̻̗͕̯̫̜̹͚͕̺̦̼̟̙̲̩̝͒̊̿͛̿͜ͅs̷̢͈͉̭̥͚̟͂̊̐̾̍͋͋̍̏t̵͉̗̮͓̼͉͍̪̻̣̬̞̏̂̿̌̌̾͐͝ ̸̲̤͖͈̯̯̝̮͉̤̥̤͇͍̹͈̼̺̫̹̃͑͂͛͆̈́͠s̶̛͕͙͈̖̣͇̺̪͓̜͙̦͉̲͕̭̆͂̓̃̍̉̈̎̐̋̐̒̓̔͋̂̾͗̿̄̚̚̕͜͜ͅo̷̢̡̧̢͈̣̠̲̰̝̫̘̩͓̘̹̊̽́̇͒͛̔̈́̒̓̌̓̈͘̕͝ủ̶̪̲̝̳̟̘̰͕̄̈́̊͊̒͋̽̕l̸̢̛͖̥̙̟̼̩̜͈̦̟̻͑̏͂̉̋͑͒̐͐̽̎̐̔̉̌͐̚̕͝ͅ c̹̺̱̯̬̞͓̀͗ͪơ̼̻͔̊ͩm̢̞̏ͪ̔̂ͅe̵̙̻͎̮̬̬̦ͯͤͅ ̾҉͉̲͚͉ȟ̤͉̤̘͖̞̬̜̓͐͝e̸͙̤̒̒r͖͎̩̣̰͔̍ͧ͆̚͡ͅe̳̝̹̖ͫ̃͢ ̴̱̮̜̳̯̇̾ͯl̖͙̓̍o̵̩̯̮̘̾̋ͣs̛͕͕̎͐t̠̫̟̦̘̠͗ͦ̃͒͟ ̱͍̖̜͍͓͕̉ͣ͠s͎̰̙̺̓̕ͅo͚̰͓͉̼͍͈̲ͦ͂͜ư͚̣̣̇ͮ̀͑l̴̖̤̦̭͕̪͚͌.̸̮͍̜̣̟͆̅ ̅҉̰͖̮̳L̼̞̣̳̣̓͗̒ē̔̉ͨ҉̙̤t̴̳̠̜̪̬͎̉ͧ̂ ̣͔̝͉̦̥͔̿͂̏̂͡ͅm͌҉̩̺̪̳͉̠e̽ͧ̇̑͏̖̞͈̗̯ ̷̪͉̮̞̉g͚̝͇̹̗̹͆ͧ̃̎͘u̬͍̮̩̗̭͕͑̄̕ͅĭ̡͈̮̎ͣ͆ď̶̙͍̙̻̪̜e̙̳̠ͨ̒̓͜ ̢̙̤͂ͥ͒̉y̥͕̩̘̜̠̓̒͒͜o͎̯̬ͮu͖̟͓͚ͩ̌͠

The first thing it hears is _s̷̨͋ṫ̸̥a̴̲̓t̴̺̔i̶̩̔c̴̠̎._  
  
It feels lost, confused, and at the same time so _unbelievably warm_ and _at home_ that it just wants to curl up and let the conflicting feelings in its gut fight forever. That it would never have to change the way it is right now. In this moment. It could just stay here, in the emptiness that surrounds it like the hug of a stranger and just… _be._  
  
_Is _it even anymore? It doesn´t know. It doesn´t remember how it got here, but it also doesn´t care. It lets itself melt into the hug and it feels the way it´s being slowly falls apart. Bit by bit it can feel itself fading. Nothingness tickling at the edges of its soul and it can´t bring itself to care. It can´t care.  
  
Not `here.`  
  
Not `now.`  
  
`Not ever again.`__

____

____

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

    
    
      
    
           
    Wake up!					UP!!			up!  
    
    You´re late!!!  
    
    Late!!!!								LATE  
    
    Late late late late			I´ve been waiting for 10.000 years!  
    
    Sleepy boi!!  
    
    Imagine dying. What a neeerd  
    
    Late 								Ma man´s AWAKE!  
    
    LATE LATE LATE  
    
    LATE  
    
    Leave the poor boy be! He just died!  
    
    Late!!
    
    
    

His head explodes in a cacophony of voices and he quickly moves his hand to his face, already feeling the sting of a headache coming up. This is _not_ what he wants to deal with after waking up. _Not at all._  
He presses his eyes shut and huffs in annoyance. _(What is this???)_ His head feels so heavy and his body so numb. The voices won´t- they _won´t shut up and-_  
This isn´t good. What is this parasite that has contaminated his head?? It makes it hard to think and he hates, _hates, **hates**_ it! He shifts his body a bit, subconsciously trying to distract himself of the shouts and whispers in his head.  
Desperate for a distraction he wrings his eyes open. What he´s greeted with is _not_ something he´d been expecting. He´s in a dark room. His eyes, usually accustomed to the constant light of Nether, need a bit of time to adjust. When they finally do, he looks around.  
  
The room he finds himself in is, as far as he can tell, not a very big one. The walls are made out of Blackstone and for a painful, panic-filled second he thinks _his sounder found him and has dragged him back to the fortress for him to die at their hooves at a latter date_ , but that fear is immediately disbanded when he notices the golden accents all around the room. His sounder would _never_ decorate a prisoner´s room with _gold_ of all things.  
  
The golden accents make him lose himself a little bit - _they would shine so beautifully in the light of a lavafall_ and the Piglin grunts in disappointment. Like this they look so bland.  
But gold is gold, and gold is valuable. The most valuable thing he knows to exist in fact! He walks over to a golden sword hanging from the wall and reaches up to it. For a moment he´s afraid he won´t be able to reach it, his small stature not doing him any favours, but he lets out a happy squeak when he does manage to detach it, the gold landing heavily in his hooved hands.  

    
    
            He squeak!!  
    
    Awwwww!!!				Adorable precious Piglin child!!  
    
    Ma babyyyyyy!!! 				                                       I caaan´t he´s too cute!!  
    
    ADORABLE!  
    
    Yes? Sir, please arrest this child! He´s not allowed to be this cute!!!  
    
    HE SQUEAK!!  
    
    

He deliberately ignores the uproar in his head, easily distracted by the way his body aches at the contact of the heavy gold. His muscles strain and he is suddenly painfully aware that he´s never fought with an actual gold sword before. _He won’t be able to defend himself with this! (But he can´t leave it behind. No- its gold that he´s earned! Gold that he has found and that deserves to be brought up to the light to shine in its full glory!)_

He looks around for something to carry the sword with. A holster of some kind. He would hate to have to hoist it around on his way back up to the surface. _(He can only assume that he´s far underground. The chill down here makes his fur stand on edge)_

He doesn´t find anything useful though. The only other things in the room are the platform he woke up on _(a pedestal made of gold. He wishes he´d be able to keep it)_ and a chest with a few baked potatoes in it. He huffs at the fact that they´re baked. He´s not _that_ young of a child that he needs his food cooked! _(though he doesn´t mind the soft texture when he bites into one, nor does he mind the way his stomach warms and fills quickly)._

After looking the room over one last time, hoping he hasn´t missed anything, he attaches the leather satchel with the baked potatoes to the belt of his tunic and hoists the sword onto his shoulder _(it´s taller than him and he can´t quite ignore the way it weighs down on him, but he will carry his trophy with pride)_  
Taking a careful step out of the room he cautiously sniffs the air. He can´t smell any danger, but that doesn´t mean he can let his guard down just yet.  

    
    
    ADVENTURE!!				Yass! Finally we´re out of that room!  
    
    Ooooh! I wonder where we´re going?  
    
    Are we there yet?  
    
    Does anyone want snacks?				Bathroom break?  
    
    

He huffs at the voices to shut it. _Sadly_ , they don´t listen.

The halls are also made out of Blackstone. They turn and twist and after a while of running around he starts getting tired. With every turn that ends up getting him nowhere he gets a little more disheartened and its starting to get difficult, carrying the sword around.  
He´s surely eaten at least half the stack of baked potatoes he started out with and he´s starting to get annoyed at the voices in his head. _He can´t even understand them!_ It´s not like they´re speaking in a Piglin dialect, after all. To him, they are just being unreasonably loud, and they won´t listen to him either!  
He growls at them, hoping they´ll stop, now that they know he´s angry with them. They don´t; and he can feel the uproar in his head as they start screaming louder.  

    
    
     Is he trying to threaten us???			                                                     Awww! Little baby tryin to be scawy??  
    
    He can´t even hurt us			Guys! Calm down! He´s still new to this.  
    
    Baby Piglins are so weird?? but so cute tho???  
    
    Adowable					UwU  
    
    

They won´t _shut up!_ They won´t shut up they _won´t shut up **theywon´tshutuptheywon´tshutupthey-**_

He presses his hooves to his ears, digging into them and _it just doesn´t help!_ They won´t stop _and he can´t hear himself **think.**_  
He can feel his breath quicken. He can feel his hooves digging into his ears and he wants it to _stop!_ He _just_ wants it to stop! He desperately starts clawing at his ears, trying everything to _just get them to **SHUT UP!**_ _He needs them to **STOP!!**_

  
_Everything ebbs out when he feels two slow trails of blood making their way through the fur of his arms._  
He watches them with wide eyes and somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that the voices have stopped their screaming. They are now nothing but a silent hum in the back of his head now and he can´t help the mix of absolute _euphoria_ and slight dread that bubbles up inside him.  
After a few seconds of just staring and watching the blood get caught in his fur as it tries to battle its way through, he unfurls himself, arms moving away from his sore ears slowly and steadily, as he ignores the blood that stains his hooved hands.  
He´s too glad that the voices have calmed down to care that he´s bleeding.  
If it takes his blood to satisfy them, then he´ll oblige. Everything to get them to shut up. _(Somewhere deep down in his gut he feels a sense of wrong, but his clouded mind barely registers it)_

  


* * *

Eventually he finds his way out of the maze of Blackstone. He almost squeals loudly in relief when he feels the familiar heat roll over him as he climbs the final stairs. He´s exhausted, his ears sting and he barely has any potatoes left, but what matters, is that he can feel the slightly softer nether-rack beneath his feet and smell the striders that swim through the lava-lake next to the exit of the labyrinth.  
He is so caught up in the moment, so caught up by the fact that he´s _survived_ , that he doesn´t care about any of the strain and pain in his body. _He can´t bring himself to!_  
He slowly walks over to the nearest hill. He doesn´t have a pickaxe, but his hooves will have to do, so he digs a small hole into the hill. Just big enough for a tiny Piglin like him. The entrance is only one block high and the rest of the hole isn´t much bigger, but he doesn´t mind as the fire in his veins starts seeping out of him and he collapses to the ground.  
  
  
_He´s finally made it out._


	2. In which a live starts to begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Piglin´s gotta learn how to get settled. The voices can be helpful! (But most of the time they´re just annoying)

The Piglin has established himself a new base at this end of the Nether. He´s small and struggles to get by- his tusks haven´t even started growing in yet! In a normal sounder, Piglins wouldn´t be trained properly until their tusks start growing in, but the Piglin guesses, that that´s just the norm.  
He can, apparently fight without tusks, after all.  
  
Not having any training does come with a lot of disadvantages though. For one: he can´t even begin to try and fight with the sword that he found in the room. It lies too heavily in his grip, and even though he can carry it around, he couldn´t fight with it. It would be dangerous and put him at a disadvantage, and he refuses to die _now._  
  
So yeah, fighting is a whole story. He´s trying to get his muscles to develop, challenging baby hoglins and sparring with trees, but it’s a whole process. _(not like that´s going to stop him)_  
  
But there are a few other things that have been… different. _(He can´t remember what they´re different from, but they feel so new)._ One of those things comes in the form of a golden crown that’s placed firmly on the Piglins head.  
  
…A little bit too firmly it seems, because no matter what the Piglin tries, no matter how hard it tugs or how long it prods, it can´t get it off of his head.  

    
    
    CURSED						I´M CALLING IT  
    
                                                                    Okay, but seriously, that crown has to have curse of binding on it or something.  
    
               CURSE OF BINDING				CURSE CURSE CURSE CURSE!!!!  
    
                          That´s suspicious… that´s weird			CURSE  
    
    

Oh, and that´s another thing: _the voices._ They like to chime in whenever he´s doing… anything, really. They´re very loud, and he can´t really understand them. He´s figured by now that they are, in fact, _not_ just making random sounds.

He´s managed to pin a certain meaning to different noises. Like the “Aw” sound. For the record: _He doesn´t **like** the “Aw” sound._ It feels like they´re patronizing him, when they let out a long-winded Aw, every time he does something, that they seemingly deem to be “cute”. To their credit, it´s at least the most annoying thing they do. He figures they could be worse. _(Not that that helps much)_

The “Pog” sound is another one that he hears often. They usually sound happy when they say it. He thinks it means that something is going well, but he´s not sure. _(He kind of likes that sound. It´s funny.)_

He also knows a few sounds that he´s never figured out the meaning to. One of those _(well, maybe this one´s more like a series of sounds)_ is very prevalent, especially when he´s hunting or fighting something. Almost in a chorus they will chant `“Blood for the Blood God! Blood for the Blood God!”`  
He doesn´t know what they mean, but the chant starts up every time he fights, so maybe it´s some kind of war cry? It seems a little long for that, but he doesn´t have a better guess, so maybe the voices are just bad at coming up with war cries?

He huffs a laugh. _Kind of ironic, seeing as they like fighting so much._

Sometimes a voice will stand out from the others. He isn´t quite sure if it´s just louder or if it makes the rest of the voices go quieter, but he can hear those voices a lot more clearly. He doesn´t know what they´re trying to tell him, but they make everything in his head a little less cramped, so he thinks that he likes them.

He looks up from his mushroom gathering to watch the striders in the distance. It’s a shame that he can´t try those, he´s sure that they´d taste great. The only actual meat he ever gets to eat is the pork of small hoglins, but it´s dangerous to fight them.

He´s sadly already eaten all of the potatoes he got from the room, and he doesn´t know how to get more, so he mostly lives off of mushrooms. The voices are getting bored of his diet, and frankly, he is too, but neither gasts, nor striders are really something he feels he´d be able to take up in a fight. _(Not yet at least)_ They´re both in too dangerous places for him to count them as equal opponents and he can´t even fight a fully grown hoglin, _an enemy that lives and fights on the ground._

He´s seen a lot of different mobs by now. Some of them seem familiar _(maybe he´s seen them before?)_ , but some are completely foreign to him.  
The tall, dark and scary things; the one´s that make such… ẅ̶͉́͜a̷͚̾̾r̷͙̰͖̾͒̈p̶̪̲̈́̑e̴̝̮̒̇ḋ̶͓̒͊ sounds- he doesn´t like them. They´re scary and he doesn´t think he could eat them even if he managed to kill one _(if they could be killed)._

But the point is, that he´s _pretty sure_ he knows of pretty much every mob.

So, when, one day, a new creature appears on his radar, he´s cautious but at the same time very, _very_ curious.  
It´s a weird creature. He can see neither fur nor scales, so he can only assume that it´s skin is leather-y. Its walk reminds him of that of one of those tall dark creatures with the scary sounds, but this one doesn´t seem very frightening. It seems more… he doesn´t know, but it´s not scary to him.

The creature is wearing _gold_ is what matters. It´s a _new creature_ and its wearing _gold_ , so he follows it.  
It has a sword, so that would put him at a disadvantage in a fight, which means that he sadly can´t try attacking it out of nowhere, however much he wants to see how it tastes.

The voices seem to be curious too.  

    
    
    Human pog??				Oh yeah! Plot progression.  
    
                                                                                *breathes in the change of pace* this. this is beautiful.  
    
                                                                                 Can we eat it?  
    
    Please don´t eat the human!!!				I´ve heard humans taste good!  
    
           We should try it!
    

  
He can´t understand more than usual, but what he does notice, is that there´s a new sound thrown into the mix.  
 _“Human”._ He wraps his mind around the word. Is that what the creature is called? Interesting. _(He doesn´t wonder how the voices know; they just do.)_

* * *

The longer he follows the “human”, the more intrigued he is by it.   
It seems to know where it´s going, but at the same time keeps doing things that the Piglin´s instincts would _never_ allow it to do.  
  
He looks at the back of the human´s frame with a baffled face as it starts building a path over the lava. It´s thin and looks a bit unsafe, but the human walks across it without a care in the world.  
  
Slowly coming out from behind his hiding spot, he eyes the path. If the human, that´s so much taller and _(probably)_ heavier than him, can walk over this, then he can too, right?  
  
He places an uncertain hoof on the rock, but when it holds and the voices seem to support the idea of following further, he quickly hurries over to the other side of the lake and keeps up with the human. He can´t lose it. It´s too interesting.  
  
It keeps doing things that absolutely fascinate the little Piglin. It has so many tools that it sometimes pulls out of seemingly nowhere. _(It does have a satchel-type carrying-thing slung around its body, but it only seems to put certain things in there. He doesn´t know what the criteria for that is)._ The Piglin almost squeaks with glee as the human _reflects_ a gast´s fireball right back at it!  
He almost forgets himself when he sees the human mine out a bit of gold. _No_. He has to follow further. He can´t expose himself for six gold-nuggets. _(But if he pays a little more attention to the bag the nuggets are in for a little while, then no one would know)_

* * *

He doesn´t know for how long he´s been following the human, but he _does_ know, that he´s never seen something like that before.  
There´s a structure that stands on top of a hill. The Piglin can´t follow the human onto the plain without getting noticed, so he watches from afar as the human steps into the purple glow, and with a strange sound _(it vaguely reminds him of the tall, dark and scary creatures)_ the human disappears.  
  
The Piglin waits for a little longer. His breath is caught in his chest as he vaguely hears the voices get riled up in his head.  

    
    
    WHOA! THAT´S SO COOL!				PORTAL POG???						magic go brrr  
    
    I have only seen someone do that a handful of times! It´s so awesome!  
    
                                                     LET´S GO TO THE OVERWORLD!!  
    
                                                                                          OVERWORLD!		Overworld overworld overworld overworld  
    
          OVERWORLD POG  
    
    

“Overworld”? What could the voices mean by that? The small Piglin approaches the “portal”, as it seems to be called, with slow steps, not trusting it completely. The voices seem exited. He doesn´t know if he should be glad or scared by that. _Only one way to find out._

The portal is big. Not _extremely_ big, but definitely about four times bigger than him. Which, he thinks, counts as being big. He can hear the strange purple glow pulsing. He´s never heard anything like it before _(except for the dark creatures. It´s always the tall, dark creatures)._

He doesn´t know if he should touch it, and with the voices shouting in his tethered ears he almost does. His hoof is so close… he can feel the glow on his hand. It´s not warm… but it´s not cold either. It feels… _warped?_ As if its tugging at his fur slightly, _beckoning_ him to come closer. _To step into its glow._

  


…

  


He pulls back. Something brown in his peripheral vision has caught his attention, so he turns, pulling his hoof back close to him. The voices are disappointed, but some are already curious about this other new thing. _(Still so easy to distract)_  
  
It´s… he doesn’t know what it is, but it seems to be made out of leather with strange symbols carved into the front. He sniffs it. It doesn´t smell edible, or alive, really. He inspects it further turning it in his hooved hands and suddenly it seems to fall apart.  
  
He drops it with a surprised squeak. Instead of the leather from before, there´s now some… _white stuff._ It also has symbols on it, but a _lot_ more, and they´re not carved in. At least, it looks like they´re not carved in. _(what other way is there to get symbols on a surface??)_  

    
    
    BOOK POG				the human mustve dropped it  
    
                                                WHAT BOOK IS IT?			Book book book book book  
    
             YOOO! GREEK STUFF	                           look at that loser being scared of a book  
    
    

The voices are at it again. So… this thing is… a “book” then? The voices don´t seem very alarmed. Mostly just curious and exited. He can hear mocking in some of their tones, but they do that often. He doesn´t pay those much mind.  
He walks up to the “book” again; inspecting it carefully before picking it up. The human must´ve dropped it. He´s never seen anything like this just spawn, after all. It seems to work kind of like a chest, he concludes after looking it over again. Like a chest, just smaller and with this white, thin stuff in it. He toys around with it for a little longer, and eventually decides to take it back to his base. It´s interesting enough.

* * *

For a while, the book stays in his base, untouched and unmoved. Just lying in the corner. It´s placed next to his sword, which also doesn´t get moved around much. His muscles have been growing, so he hopes he´ll be able to train with it soon, but for now it´s just there. _(Just taking up space)_  
  
He barely gives the book any thought for a while. It´s presence doesn´t seem very important, but when he sits in his base one time, too tired to hunt, but too awake to fall asleep, his eyes travel over to it. He walks up to it and inspects it again. The symbols on and in it are still foreign to him, no matter how long he stares, he just can´t seem to make sense of them.  
  
He´s close to discarding it again, not seeing any use in just… _staring_ , when suddenly, one of the loud voices speaks up.  
`We can read that. Should we help you?`  
  
He´s not entirely sure what they´re saying, but he thinks the voice is offering help? Its tone makes him think so, at least. He lets out an affirmative huff and waits.  
`"These symbols are letters. Letters. They translate to different sounds.`

* * *

Needless to say, it takes a while, before the Piglin gets a hang of it. _First_ , he needs to decipher what the voices are saying, to figure out what they want from him. And _then_ he has to figure out how to actually decipher everything correctly.  
  
What he´s figured out so far, is that the symbols are called “letters” and that they all translate to sounds. He´s happy that the voices are actually helpful for once, as they guide him through the first two “words” on the front of the book.  
  
“0ʋ-ɨɖ”  
  
“0꒦꒐꒯”  
  
“0Vid”  
  
“O-Vid”  
  
He repeats the word a few times. Tracing each “letter” with his hoof as he says it. It doesn´t sound quite the way the voices are saying it, but it´ll have to do. So, he moves onto the next word; proud of himself when he recognizes one of the letters from the first one. 

* * *

He ends up practicing his reading whenever he isn´t out gathering or hunting food. After a few practicing sessions he can recognize most of the letters. Some of the voices tell him that he´s a fast learner _(others tell him to hurry up and get to reading the actual stories)_  
  
After spending so much time communicating with the voices, he also understands them better. He hasn´t figured out all the words yet, but he does know, that the language they´re speaking involves a _lot_ more nose-making than Piglin-dialect, so he only really speaks it when practicing his reading. Making too much noise is bound to get you killed in the Nether, after all.  
  
Reading is not the only thing the Piglin has gotten better at though! He is also proud to say, that he´s gotten stronger.  
He can hold the sword without as much trouble now and has tried swinging it around a few times. He tries hitting trees with it, but can´t seem to hit quite right. He finds that it´s surprisingly hard to get the sword to cut when he swings it. It frustrates him, but he can´t give up now. _He´s trained for this and he´ll continue to!_  
  
He keeps trying out new things with it, but _actually_ fighting has proven itself to be… difficult. He hasn´t tried it out yet, not really, not with someone that has a sword _(and it´s not because he doesn´t want to go near a Piglin-sounder. Shut up, voices)_ , but he has tried slaying a hoglin with it and almost lost his mid-section in the process.  
Needless to say, he decides to leave it out of hunting trips for the time being.

* * *

After a good chunk of time, he´s proud to say that he´s read the first “page” of the book! He doesn´t quite understand every single word just yet, but he can read the letters alright by now, and he´s very proud of that.  
It fascinates him, that one can write sounds down! That one can communicate a meaning through stains of “ink” on a page. _(There are some words one the other side of the “pages” that most of the voices don´t know though. They tell him, that it´s a different “language” and that most of them can´t read it. It makes him curious, but as that curiosity doesn´t get him anywhere he decides, that he should just focus on the language that the voices know. For now, at least)_  
  
  
He´s also taking a liking to exploring the area around his hunting-grounds. He explores the path that he saw the human at before and looks around a bit more carefully. All he´s ever known the nether to be is nether-rack, lava, fortresses and the occasional blue or red forest.  
  
Now that the human has given him a taste of what it´s like to _explore_ and _discover_ unfamiliar things he climbs more. He explores more and looks closer at the thing he already knows. In the process he actually _does_ stumble upon something... kind of new. _Of course_ , he´d seen the strange glowing structures hanging from the ceiling, but as he climbs up a high hill and comes face to face _(or face to block)_ with one of them he realizes, that he´s never been so close to one the block-clusters.  
  
He also realizes that he really, _really_ wants to know what gets them to glow like that.  
  
Hammering his hoof against the glowing block he lets out an excited squeak when it turns into a sort of glowing dust. He scoops it up, marvelling at how it sticks to his hooved hands like he´s never seen anything do before.  
  
He sniffs it; his eyes twitch as it enters his snout, and he lets out a small sneeze.  

    
    
    Awwwww! 			HE SNEEZES LIKE A KITTEN  
    
                 OH GOD MY HEART  
    
                                       that is the most adorable thing i´ve seen in my entire life  
    
           KITTEN SNEEZE!!!  
    
    

He ignores the voices, huffing in annoyance when he hears the re-sounding “Awww”s. He hates that noise so much, it isn´t even funny.  
Electing to ignore it, he looks back down at the powder. He scoops up all of it that´s fallen to the ground and stuffs it in his leather-satchel, before breaking a few more for good measure. _(It might be useful, who knows? It´s not just because he finds it cool! Shut up, voices. He´s responsible and resourceful. He doesn´t do stuff for stupid reasons like that!)_

When he comes back to his base though… he doesn´t quite know what to do with the powder. He can´t let it stay in his satchel, he needs that for transporting food, so what to do? Placing in on the floor is stupid, it would just go all over him and all his stuff, so that´s already out.  

    
    
    just make blocks			MAKE BLOCKS OUT OF IT  
    
                       GLOWSTONE POG  
    
                         does he even know how to craft?			CAN HE CRAFT?  
    
            I don´t think he can					does he even have an inventory???  
    
    

He thinks, the voices are trying to be helpful? He doesn´t quite get what they mean though. They talk of _crafting_ and _blocks_ , but this is literally _powder_. He doesn´t think he can make anything out of it?? To be fair, he´s never _tried_ it, but it seems rather obvious.

“X-plAi2”

One of the loud voices pipes up.

`Arrange four piles of powder in a square.`

Unknown word alarm: “Suae?”

`A square is like a flat block.`

Hm. He can work with that description- _he thinks_ , at least.

So he lays four heaps of powder in square and- _okay_ , this is ridiculous. This should _not- **how??**_ He lets out a confused snort, his face scrunching up into a grimace of offence and disbelieve. He doesn´t know how, exactly, but there, in front of him is a _block_. Like one of those that the structures on the ceiling are made of. _(He distantly notes that the voices call it glowstone)_

He takes the block in-between his hooved hands and stares at it with bewilderment for a little longer. A voice tries to explain that it has something to do with “Physics” and that` its really complicated stuff but basically-` and he can´t listen to the voice because _that´s a lot of words he doesn´t know_ and this is _not_ something that should work but it _does?? **Somehow???**_

After he´s done having an existential crisis he decides that, now that he has a pretty, glowing block, he can place it somewhere to light up his base. There´s only a _slight_ problem, but he guesses that that´s easily fixed.

So, after expanding his base a bit, so that the ceiling is nice and high _(for him at least. He´s barely more than a block after all)_ he places the glowing block into a corner. The rest of the powder in his satchel he also crafts into blocks and puts one in every corner of his base.

Smiling at the unfamiliar _(but oh so warm)_ golden light, he elects to sit down next to one of the blocks and do some reading. There are still some mushrooms left for him to eat, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what I´m doing, but I guess if you enjoyed this, then I´m doing _something_ right.  
> Comments make me very happy, so don´t be afraid to comment.  
> Hope ya liked it ,]


	3. In which a Piglin learns and discovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade does some more stuff ya know? There´s a fight scene and a lot of like... him just existing and figuring stuff out. Jus´ read it if ya´r already here.

He´s already forgotten about the human, by the time it comes back. This time he doesn´t think about eating it _(though some of the voices insist that it would be delicious)_ , instead just following it around again. Who knows? Maybe it´ll drop something cool again!  
  
It does mostly the same stuff as last time he saw it. The only time something new happens, is when its pickaxe breaks. The human says a few words that he doesn´t know _(he can tell they sound angry)_ and _huffs_. Now, the Piglin knows that huffs can have meanings in the human´s language too, but he didn´t quite expect it to huff. It´s such a Piglin thing to _do_ \- the _voices_ never huff!  
But the interesting thing about the whole situation is what the human does next. It pulls a block out of seemingly nowhere and places it down onto the ground. The Piglin can see multiple foreign tools that it´s never seen before dangling from the side of the block and he peaks up, curiosity clear in his eyes.  
  
The human pulls out some more stuff and then does- well, it does _something_. The Pigling can´t quite tell what, but his eyes light up when he sees the human pulling back from the block with a new pickaxe in hand!  
  
_The human knows how to make Pickaxes!_ That block- the Piglin _needs_ that block!!  
  
Before it can make any rash decisions, however, the voices chime in.  
  

    
    
       Make one!!				CRAFTING TABLE CRAFTING TABLE!!!  
    
                                                          CRAFTING TABLE				make a crafting table!  
    
                                                                                                    WOOOOOD			*to the tune of the Pokemon theme*gotta get some wood  
    
                       Ah yes. Enslaved ore			CRAFTING TABLE  
    
    

He can only guess that that block is called a “crafting table” then. He huffs in amusement. This other language has so many words, it´s really ridiculous sometimes. He´s intrigued by the thought of making tools. Piglins usually use armour and weapons they find off of fallen friends or foes. Only the older ones know how to craft _(he doesn´t know why he knows that, but then again, sometimes he wonders why he remembers so little at all)_

He follows the human for the rest of the time it´s there and his fur stands on edge when he sees it go through the portal again. The portal is so… so _enticing_ , that he almost considers walking up to it and just following the human through, but he shakes his head at the thought. _No_ , he can´t go through there, no matter how much the voices try to egg him on, he won´t budge.  
It´s a challenge he´s not quite ready to face and an adventure he´s not quite ready to go on. 

* * *

The voices don´t like his stance on the portal. Sure, they´re easily distracted but eventually one voice will always mention it again and most of them will latch onto it and encourage even more to do so and at this point he would take the patronizing “Aw”s rather than have to deal with this. It´s really rather annoying.  
  
Eventually, he can´t be bothered anymore and makes a compromise. He can only hope the voices can see some sort of reason.  
  
“whE2 b00k E2ds, thE2 pOrtäl”  
  
Some of them laugh at the pronunciation, some of them coo, but eventually most of them seem to agree and stop talking about the portal. _(Though they do try to get him to read more often now)_

He´s also been getting better with the sword. He´s been practicing on logs and the grip he has on the weapon has been getting better day by day. Today is the day he decides to take it on a hunting trip. He hopes to maybe slay a Magma-Cube. It´s the most likely thing he´d be able to take down. Grown Hoglins are a hard thing to kill after all. Even fully grown Piglin can die in a fight against such a vicious beast, but if the Piglin comes across one he fully intends to take his chance!  
  
So that´s how he ends up walking across the land, looking for any mob he´s confident enough to take on.  
  
_There_ , he sees the beast from across the forest floor. A hoglin. A grown one too. The Piglin lets out a loud huff of air, its nostrils flaring as it stares right at its opponent. The hoglin notices him and doesn´t falter for even a second before charging at its much smaller enemy, immediately recognizing the danger that even a small Piglin can mean to its territory.  
  
He manages to dodge the attack; jumping up onto a ledge to escape the hoglin´s attempt, but his sword barely manages to get to his enemy and when it does, he finds that it isn´t as effective as he hoped it would be. His strategy is too faulty to stand an enemy in a real fight. His stance is unsteady, and he clutches the sword with desperation rather than experience.  
  
He can´t back down now though. As he gets pretty much chased around by the beast, dodging left and right. He´s not looking for an escape, but he is looking for a chance to attack, grasping onto every opportunity he can find to plunge his sword into the hoglin´s flesh.  
  
His blood rushes in his ears and his eyes are clouded with exhaustion as his breathing goes shallow and quick. The voices get louder and louder with every hit he avoids, with every cut he distributes and with every bit of blood that is spilled, if it is the hoglin´s or his own barely matters to them.  
  
`Blood for the Blood God Blood for the Blood God`  
  
The voices are so loud that they replace the rushing in his ears, leaving a dull ache as the chorus- _no, not chorus, they are way too chaotic, way too hard to listen to, to be a chorus_ \- carries on unforgivingly.  
  
`Blood for the Blood God Blood for the Blood God`  
  
He feels the fire in his veins burn his skin and set his fur aflame. He feels the way he slowly dissolves into the heat around him, the only thing close to grounding is the loud chaos in his head. And that, in a way seems to elevate him in a different sense.  
  
`Blood for the Blood God Blood for the Blood God`  
  
He can´t think. He can´t _breathe_ , but that doesn´t matter. All he needs is to _survive_ , all he needs is to _win_.  
  
`Blood for the Blood God Blood for the Blood G-`  
  
And something inside him _shifts_.  
  
His ears perk up and he can feel his eyes become clearer than he thought they could be. The air feels cold and harsh against his fur, a stark contrast to the usually hot air that wafts through the nether- a contrast to the suffocating heat that had engulfed him before.  
  
Everything feels sharp, the floor beneath his hooves as well as the sounds in his ears. He´s frozen in place for a second, the sensation washing over him feels almost sickening but he´s never felt more awake. He´s never felt more… _deadly._ _`(Blood for the Blood god Blood for the Blood god)`_  
  
His sharp gaze lands on the beast and suddenly every ounce of fear and doubt he´d had in his body washes out of him as all of his senses go into tunnel-vision. All he _needs_ and all he _knows_ is the hoglin´s _blood on his hooves._
    
    
    Bl-*-d									
    
      
      
      
    
    
    
    
    									                         -od
    
      
      
    
    
    
    
    			                                                                                                                                                   Blo-- --- * G-d
    
      
    
    
    
    							Blo-d f-* t-- Bl—d God
    
      
      
    
    
    
    
    
    
    			       Blood f-r the Blo-d God
    
      
    
    
    
    
                    	Blood-						
    
      
      
      
    
    
    
    
    									                                                                                                                                       Bl-od f*r the Bl--d G-d
    
    
    
    
    

When he feels himself come to again, he´s breathing heavily. There´s fire in his veins that feels like it´s going to burn him alive but at the same time he doesn´t want it to stop. _He wants it to never stop._  
  
…  
  
The next thing he notices is the smell, as his senses catch up to him again. It stings in his snout slightly, a smell that he knows all too well. It smells of death, the unmistakable stench of blood.  
  
The third thing that his senses register is that his fur feels sticky, the fourth thing that his eyes are dry and burn a bit and then that his breaths feel harsh and dry.  
  
Only after all his senses have returned, does his mind begin to catch up with the situation only then does he begin to recognize where he is and what he´s done.  
  
The hoglin beneath him is lying in a pool of blood _(he reckons the pool would be bigger if the hungry nether-rack hadn´t already swallowed up so much of it)_. There´s a golden sword sticking out of it- _his_ golden sword sticking out of it and he looks at the hoof that´s clenched around the hilt. His hoof, clenched as if the sword is the only thing keeping his mind from flying out of him and never finding its way back again. _In a sense, he truly believes that as well._  
  
His mind needs a lot longer to catch up to his body than he´d like, but he can´t find it in himself to try to speed up the process.  
  
He´s processing everything around him slowly, even though his mind feels like it’s on over-drive as he feels the fire slip out of him, seemingly seeping into the ground below him as it tries to pull him down with it. The fire is replaced with an emptiness. Big and hollow and so, so _tiering._  
  
But he doesn´t move. His hoofed hand doesn´t unclench and his mind refuses to be grounded. He feels the pull of unconsciousness, but as soon as it starts pulling him in, he shakes himself. Breaking out of the trance.  
  
He still feels a bit to the left. Not quite right.. not quite there. He only barely manages to drag the hoglin back to his base. Its too big to fit in, so he takes a chance and leaves it lying under a ledge nearby. He can´t care enough to worry about his first catch this big being stolen by some random mob. All he wants is to rest, so he curls up in his base and gets lulled to sleep by the voices’ enthusiastic cries and shouts. _(They help ground him, so he doesn´t mind this time)_  
  
When he wakes up again the feeling is… less. It´s more in the back of his mind now. Something aching to being a feeling but just falling short. He tries to ignore it and with the voices brabbling on about everything and nothing its easier than he thought it would be at first.  
  
He feels almost… _he doesn´t know_ , but it feels quiet... in a good way, but no matter how much he knows that his new catch is laying outside, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself to go and get it. He can´t find it in himself to do it. So he doesn´t.   
He walks around in his base. He reads aloud to the voices, only finding his voice back after sitting there for a while. He just exists in his space and tries to make the best out of this compromising situation he´s found himself in.  
  
Only after sleeping once more he wakes up feeling right again. He hadn´t felt the shift in his sleep, but he is glad that he can do more again- that he can _excite_ himself to go out and explore and hunt- _he flinches at nothing._  
  
Okay. No hunting for now; he reasons that he can live with just his usual food for now anyways.  
  
When he finally leaves his base again, he cherishes the warm wind that wafts through the large tuft of hair that peaks out from in and beneath his crown. He takes a few seconds to take in how alive the world around him feels. The slow-moving and bubbling lava has its own sound, a distinct mix of bubbles bursting and extreme heat that moves along Nether-Rack. He moves his ears around, catching the different sounds of different mobs in the distance.  
  
The _“mvvv”_ sound of the striders moving through the lakes of lava and the rattle of bones as skeletons run around. It feels… nice. It feels alive, and he can´t help but fully embrace it. _(He doesn´t close his eyes. You can never randomly close your eyes in the Nether, but he does stand up a little taller)_  
  
His line of sight falls upon the ravaged and scattered remains of the hoglin. Not much more than its skeleton is left, though that will probably be carried away sometime soon as well. He should´ve guessed it would be found by some mobs. It was too much of a valuable food-source to go unused.  
  
But even though he feels a sting of disappointment, that his first actually big catch is not going to actually help him out, he also feels a swell of pride inside of him at the size of the skeleton.  
It´s broken at some parts, probably by a Magma-Cube, judging by the burn marks on the shards, but it is unmistakably large. Just looking at the powerful horns attached to the skull. Those are horns he _survived_ ; those are horns he´s _won against!_  
  
He´s done it! He´s finally killed something with his sword. He´s finally proven himself as a warrior and he _can-!_... he can _what?_ He can continue surviving and continue exploring but… that´s not what he had been thinking about just now. A thought had flashed through his mind, and as if it had only been a dream only the feeling of euphoria it had brought stayed engraved into his mind.  
  
He ponders and ponders, but he can´t get the thought to come back- he can´t get the feeling to come back. He spares the hoglin-skeleton one last look and huffs disappointedly.  
  
He doesn´t remember ever having been very patient but he guesses that trying to force the thought back into his mind isn´t working, so he´ll have to be in this one for the long run.
    
    
    Oh no! Sad baby??					Y sad? U should be proud!!  
    
                                                                                                                      WAT´S THE MATTER???				NO SAD!!!  
    
                                                                  Wow, not even that makes him happy for long		Y SAD???
    
    
    

  


He huffs a bit at the voices´ antics. They´re always so quick to freak out, but in this case it´s kind of... no. He´s not calling them adorable. Nope, that´s not happening _(Ahaha- no.)_. At least _the voices_ care for him _(some of them do)_.

  


“M´fI2”, his voice betrays him a little it seems, baring more emotion than he´d liked it to, for the voices to hear; but as soon as he speaks, they react to it.  
  

    
    
                        OH NO!!! HOMESICK BABY??				U HOMESICK??		CHEER UP!!  
    
                                                                                          SUPPORT FROM THE VOICES!!			We´re your new home  
    
                                                                                                                                         SUPPORT!!!					SUPPORT THE BABI!!  
    
    

He huffs at the voices again. They´re okay sometimes, he supposes… _(They´re all he has)_

* * *

There´s a lot of stories in the book he´s reading. They sometimes seem unconnected but because they all play in the same world _(such a weird one, one he can barely imagine)_ they all tie together in some way. Just when you think that this story is really out of place you find out the god is somehow related to the god in the last story- or the one before that!  
  
He´s re-read many of the stories, without having finished the book yet. He wants to understand them, and the voices, as much as they tried, could not keep him from doing that.  
  
With so many Characters that play a role, so many things that have an effect something always happens. It is never boring; it is never simple and monotonous. There´s always something exciting happening and always something new to find out about this world that he can´t quite wrap his head around sometimes.  
  
For a while he wishes his life were like that. That now, that he´s slain one beast he would go on and slay another! That he would slay _thousands_ by the time he´s went to sleep another fifty times!  
  
But that doesn´t happen, and what´s in the book stays in the book. It paints a very different picture from everything he knows altogether.  
  
It describes colours that he´s never seen. The voices try to explain, but he can´t wrap his head around it. As soon as he finds a colour in the Nether, that´s mentioned in the book, like when he points out the green grass and the blue leaves of the forest of the tall and scary creatures, the voices say that `“it´s not the same”` and `“you´ll find out some day”` (some seem to think its very funny to tell him `“you´ll get it when you´re older”`. He doesn´t really understand, but to be fair, the voices are just like that sometimes)  
  
He craves something different, and he tries to fill the void with exploring the world around him, going farther and farther every time. He thinks of the portal sometimes, but he´s made a compromise with the voices and he won´t go without having finished his book. He has set up that deal and he can´t back out of it.  
  
So, he spends his days gathering and reading, occasionally climbing a tall hill or going back to his spot. It´s not different and he still craves the adventure, but he´s… _fine_ with it. It´s not like he really dislikes it, after all.  
  
When something different does finally happen, it´s _not_ what he´d been expecting.  
  
He first notices when he´s eating. It doesn´t happen when he´s eating mushrooms, not really, but when he tries tearing the flesh off of his prey _(just a small hoglin, he hasn´t found it in himself to challenge a big one again)_ he can feel the way his teeth ache. At first, he doesn´t think much of it. Sometimes things just hurt, he knows that and sometimes they need attention, sometimes they don´t. He hopes it´ll go away eventually.

  


_It doesn´t go away._  
  
He tries to distract himself from the pain, trying his best to articulate to the voices what´s wrong!  
  
“Muth hu´t”  
  
They offer coos and answers that he doesn´t know what to do with. All in all, they´re not that helpful and he doesn´t like it.  
  
He´s worried and it hurts and he doesn´t want something to be wrong with his mouth! The pain gets less easy to ignore over time, worsening instead of getting better like he´d hoped it would. His tries to distract himself get less and less effective, as he desperately searches for something that could help. He bites down on some shrooms but it doesn´t work- doesn´t _distract_ him, and _it hurts and-_ he looks around for something else.  
  
Picking up the book he bites down on the worn leather.  
  
It feels nice against his teeth, but after biting down a few times he regains his composure. He doesn´t want to destroy his book: and he knows his teeth can be sharp and his jaw can be strong. He doesn´t want to take the risk. He would hate not to be able to read anymore, so he takes it out of his mouth, even though he still itches to bite down on something, and gingerly places it back onto the ground.  
  
Then his eyes catch on something in the corner of his base. A few gold nuggets, strewn across the ground without much thought. He picks one up, and without hesitation, shoves it into his mouth. The heavy metal is cold _(as cold as it can get at this level in the nether at least)_ against his teeth and the flesh around them and he chews around on it, pointedly ignoring the voices making a big deal about it in the back of his head.  
  
He doesn´t care if they don´t like the idea of biting on gold. It seems to ease the pain in a way that nothing else had been able to so far, so he doesn´t care. He can´t afford to care about something the voices aren´t even sure about. _(Though the voices are never collectively sure, but it’s about the principle of the matter, you know?)_

* * *

The voices have, after some time of him pointedly not stopping at their cries, mostly come to terms with the gold-chewing habit he´s established. At seemingly random times he will feel an uncomfortable sting in his mouth, as if the flesh is being stretched and ripped open at some parts and he´ll just stick a gold-nugget in his mouth. It helps with the pain. _(It doesn´t always, there´s times where he lies wailing on the ground, the spots too irritated to feel nice when he bites down on something. He hates it when that happens. The voices never fully understand)_  
  
The voices have taught him how to “craft” now too. Well… they´re _trying_ at least. He can feel them make a ruckus in the back of his head as he arranges things the way they want him to. He still doesn´t quite understand how all of this works but arranging things in squares seems to be the way to go.  
  
Well, not _always_ apparently, because at first he has to make the crimson wood he´s gathered into… _“planks”_? He doesn´t quite know how to do that, and the voices keep telling him to just _craft_ , and he doesn´t understand. _(Others have already given up on the endeavour, having come to terms with him not being able to craft and he´s dangerously close to agreeing with them)_  
  
He experiments a little with it. Placing down blocks randomly and not really paying attention to what the voices are trying to tell him. He´s trying his best here, okay?  
  
When he finally stumbles across the process of turning the wood into a plank, he is slightly dumbfounded. He´s pretty sure that this is all just some godly magic right there. He swears this is straight out of his book. _(The voices say he hit it a certain way to make it break like that)_ He doesn´t quite know how he did it, but the voices seem content, and now he holds four _(kind of choppy-looking)_ planks in his hoofes.  
  
But it seems planks aren´t quite enough for the voices. He lets out an exhausted huff… why do they always have to be so _insistent??_  
  
Finally, he bends down _(not very far, seeing as the floor is still not that far away from his head)_ , humouring the voices as he places the “planks” down in a quare.  
  
Just as he places the last block of crimson wood, he can see it morph, and with a poof there´s a block, like the one the human had had in front of it. He lets out a perplexed huff. _Such a weird thing, this process._ The voices don´t really seem to mind the weirdness though, as they keep blabbering on.  
  

    
    
    F yeah! Finally some good f-ing crafting!!				HE CRAFT  
    
                                                                                      AND THEY SAY MOBS CAN´T CRAFT			MAKE A PICKAXE  
    
                                             That´s because mobs can´t craft dumbass			is he even a mob anymore???  
    
                                                                                                                 MAKE A PICKAXE					He´s a Piglin so idk  
    
    

The voices seem to be arguing about something, but it´s not like they don´t always do that. He´s become better at tuning them out when they´re like this. It makes his head feel less full. So, he examines the… “crafting table” he´s just made and looks it over _(why and how did he make tools by doing that?? He just used wood???)_

He picks at the wood and takes one of the tools into his mouth, much to the disdain of the voices, it seems.
    
    
    NOOO! 				NO EATING THE CRAFTING TABLE!!!				YOU NEED THAT				you´ve heard of “can´t keep my dick in my pants”, now get ready for: “can´t keep things out of my f-ing mouth!!!”			GO BACK TO CHEWING THE GOLD PLEAS					you don´t know where that´s been?? Hygiene???  
    
    

  
This is… _weird_. He decides to set aside the crafting table for another day and places it in a corner of his base. The voices don´t like it, but he´s tired, and the promise that he´ll read something before going to sleep calms them down again. He huffs a small laugh; they´re so easy to distract sometimes, it´s kind of ridiculous.

He picks up the book and glances at the crafting table one last time. He wonders when the human will come back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am **swamped** with work, so sry that it takes a bit to upload sometimes but u have already been warned beforehand, so...  
> Tell me if there´s an error somewhere and as always: I _thrive_ off of coments, so don´t be shy.  
> Hope ya liked it anyways ,]

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I don´t know how reguarly I´ll be ubdating this, but it´ll probably vary a lot. I don´t plan to do this in a very consistent way, but I promise that I´ll do my best to finish this story at some point. You can at least count on that. Publishing this is kind of an attempt at pressuring me into finishing a story for once.  
> Feel free to point out mistakes in writing and grammar.  
> That aside: I hope ya liked it ,]


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